Shoot the Woman First (15 page)

Burke got out his cigarettes, lit one. “Someone covering their tracks.”

“Could be. Thing is though, all the way out here, if it hadn't been for the fire, nobody might have found him at all. Fire's what called attention to it. Half the houses around here probably have bodies in them.”

Burke looked around. The bushes lining the driveway were black and stubbed, but the house next door was untouched.

“Fire call came in a couple hours after that drive-by you were asking about,” Rico said. “Then a Shots Fired call same night, same neighborhood. Nobody checked it out 'til the next day, though. That's when they found the other one. Two bodies, GSWs, same block. Not too hard to put that together.”

“Where was the other one?”

“'Round the way.”

“Show me.”

They went back down the driveway to the street.

“You asked me to keep my ears open,” Rico said. “'Case I heard anything else might be fallout from that drive-by. If this shit don't look like fallout, I don't know what does.”

At the corner lot, Burke saw the stone wall that bordered the property, the dark smear down the side. He moved into the trees, Rico staying on the sidewalk. Near the wall, the ground had been kicked up, indentations in dried mud. The dark patch on the wall was blood.

“Someone came this way,” he said. “They were hurting, too, bleeding. Take a look.”

“Fuck that noise. These are Bruno Maglis. You want to play detective, do it your own self.”

Burke squatted, looked at the blood, then the dried tracks. Two sets, one smaller than the other. Both led toward a chain-link fence. On the other side was a low white building, crime scene tape stretched along its front.

“That the place?” Burke said.

“City garage. No one uses it anymore. Unis got here, saw the lock on the gate broken, went in to check it out. Found the body.”

Burke walked to the fence. Halfway up, a patch of chain-link was rust red. More blood. Someone running on adrenaline, Burke thought, to climb a fence like that with a bullet in them.

“Way it looks,” Rico said, “some shit went down in that house. Mutual disagreement. Caps get popped, both men get hit. Last man standing torches the place, makes a run for it, ends up in there.” He nodded at the garage.

“Maybe,” Burke said. Thinking, two people came through that yard, and only one dead in the garage. That meant another man in the wind. Or a woman.

He walked back toward Rico. “Any ID with this one?”

“No.”

“They do fingerprints?”

“They did.”

“And?”

Rico didn't respond.

“What?” Burke said. “That three hundred I gave you wasn't enough to put us on good terms?”

“This shit gets expensive. And word is you're back working for Marquis on this one. Word is he's paying good, too.”

“Word is bullshit. This guy got a sheet?”

“That,” Rico said, “is the part you're gonna like.” He patted his coat pocket.

Burke smiled. “Slick Rick, as always.”

“Now you glad I called you?”

“I'll go a C-note more for the sheet. Another hundred when you get me what you can on the one in the house.”

“That could work. For now. But you got something bigger going on, maybe you should consider cutting your old partner in.”

“Nothing to cut right now. Let's see what you got.”

Rico took a sheaf of folded paper from his pocket, held it out. Burke took it, opened it. The top page was a color printout of a booking photo. A hard-looking man in his forties, hair swept back, head cocked, eyefucking the photographer. Lawrence Vernon Black, with four pages of history, an arrest record going back to 1977. Armed robbery. Fraud. Assault with intent. He'd done a three-year bid in the Missouri State Penitentiary from '89 to '91 on a hijacking charge. But no arrests in the last four years, and no convictions in ten. He'd retired, or learned how not to get caught.

“What's a white boy like that doing all the way out here?” Rico said.

“Good question.” Burke looked through the pages. Vital statistics, aliases, previous addresses. The most recent one was in Winter Park, Florida.

“He wasn't local,” Rico said. “I'm betting the one in the house wasn't, either.”

“I'd bet you're right. Name on the rental?”

“Louis Brown. At least that's what his license said.”

“Good one. Lawrence Black. Louis Brown.” Knowing then he'd been right all along, out-of-state pros, here to hit it and git.

“All kinds of coincidences today,” Rico said.

“Haney know all this?”

“No, and if he did, he wouldn't care. Homicide's working the bodies. He wouldn't want anything to do with that mess.”

“Can't blame him.” Burke looked at the photo, thinking, Tough break, Mr. Lawrence Vernon Black. A heavyweight like you, ending up shot dead in the middle of nowhere. Came all the way to Detroit and never even got a chance to spend that money you stole.

“You want to take a look in that garage?” Rico said.

“No. Got what I need right here.”

“I do you right?”

“You did. Anyone else know you printed these out?”

“Nah. It's just between you and me, brother.”

“Let's keep it that way.” Burke folded the papers, slipped them in his coat pocket.

Freeman had said it was a four-man crew, and now two of them were dead. Crossed the wrong partner, or fell out over the split. Any number of ways it could have gone bad. So at least two were left, one of them a woman. And if one of them was from Florida, another might be, too.

He flicked the cigarette at the blood on the stone wall. It sparked and died.

“Now you're contaminating a crime scene,” Rico said.

“This whole city is a crime scene.”

“Why we love it,” Rico said.

*   *   *

Heading home on Eight Mile, he noticed the dark SUV about five car lengths back. It had been with him the last six miles, stayed in the same lane while other vehicles passed.

There was a plaza up ahead on the right, with a pawnshop and liquor store. Burke slowed, put on his turn signal. The SUV moved into the left lane, sped up. It was a black Dodge Durango, Michigan plates, two brothers up front, both in sunglasses and dreads. The passenger turned to look at him as they drove past.

Burke pulled into the lot, waited with the engine running, let the Durango get far ahead. If they were following him, they'd have to double back, make two U-turns to come up behind him again. There was no way to do that without giving themselves away.

His cell phone began to buzz. He got it out, didn't recognize the number. “Yeah?”

“You know who this is?” Willie Freeman's voice.

“I think so. How's the shoulder?”

“How much money we talking about?”

“For what?”

“For a name.”

“You calling from the hospital?”

“No. How much money?”

“Depends. A name's just a name. If I get somewhere with it, that's different.”

“I want ten grand.”

“What?”

“Ten thousand for the name I give you.”

“You better go easy on that Demerol, Willie. No name you can give me is worth ten grand. I probably know it already anyway.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. After you left, I made some calls, found out some shit.”

“Like what?”

“Ten grand, and I give the name to you, and nobody else.”

“Ten's high.”

“It's what I need.”

“What got you so motivated all of the sudden? Damien come back to see you?”

No answer.

“He's keeping an eye on you, though, right? See if you run?”

“You want that name?”

“How do I know, five minutes after I hand over the cash, you're not on the phone to Damien?”

“Fuck him.”

“Sounds like you're scared, Willie. But that's a smart way to be right now. You did the right thing, calling me. This could work out for both of us.”

“Ten grand for the name, then we done.”

“Five up front. Another five if it pans out. Best I can do.”

Breathing on the line. “When can you get the five?”

“Couple hours. Give it to you tonight, if you want.”

“You know Brush Park? The old Presbyterian church on Woodward?”

“I know it.”

“Midnight tonight. You be there with the five.”

“No way. I pick the place.”

“This ain't no discussion. You want the name, you be there.”

Payback, Burke thought, for what he'd done at the hospital, Freeman wanting to take him over the hurdles.

“I'll think about it,” he said.

“No thinking. Yes or no. Yesterday you were telling me what the deal was. Today I'm telling you.”

“Midnight's too late.”

“You be there twelve sharp. Five past and I'm gone.”

After a moment, Burke said, “Okay. Midnight. I'll be there.”

“With the cash.”

“Of course. Willie, wait a minute. Don't hang up.”

“What?”

“I need you to know something. What happened at the hospital. That was just business. It wasn't personal.”

“Man, you got nerve to say that to me.”

“But if you try to fuck with me tonight? Or don't show up? That'll be personal. And you won't need to worry about Marquis anymore, or Damien. I'll punch your clock myself, drop you in the river with a tow chain around your ankles. You feel me?”

“Just be there,” Freeman said, and ended the call.

*   *   *

At eleven thirty, Burke pulled up outside the church. It loomed over the block like a medieval castle, high turrets and stained-glass windows. Granite steps led up to a red door. No lights inside, and no other cars on the block. He'd kept an eye on the rearview on the drive out, but there'd been no sign of the Durango.

He got out, went up the steps, saw the door was ajar. He pushed it open with a gloved hand, looked into the darkness of a vestibule.

“Walk straight ahead,” a female voice said. “No need to look at me.”

He turned to his left. A black woman came out of the shadows. She was heavy, wore jeans and a puffy coat. Her hair was long on one side, shaved close on the other. A dark automatic was pointed at his chest.

“I said straight ahead.”

“All right.” He raised his hands. “Take it easy with that thing.”

“You early.”

“So are you.”

“Walk.”

He went through the vestibule into the church, felt the woman fall in behind him. Streetlight came through the big front windows, faintly illuminated row after row of empty pews. They were laid out in a semicircle, fanning back from where the altar had once been, only a bare stretch of floor there now. The center aisle was carpeted with pigeon droppings and plaster dust. The domed ceiling was lost in shadow.

As he started down the aisle, a light flashed from an alcove. The beam moved up the aisle, climbed Burke's legs and settled on his face.

“There's good,” Freeman said.

Burke stopped, raised a hand to shade his eyes. “You need to turn that thing off, Willie. Or shine it somewhere else.”

The light stayed on him for another moment, then fell away, settled on the floor at his feet. Beyond the light, Freeman was only a silhouette in the darkness.

“He's alone,” the woman said behind him. Burke lowered his hands.

“You got my money?” Freeman said.

“Not the way this works. You need to show yourself, Willie. I don't talk to shadows.”

Freeman moved out of the alcove, into the space where the altar had been. The flashlight beam moved up again, centered on Burke's chest.

“Search him,” Freeman said. “See if he got that money.”

“No chance,” Burke said. “In three seconds I'm going to turn around and walk out of here. Shoot me if you want. You can deal with Marquis on your own.”

“You ain't doing nothing 'less I tell you to,” the woman said. She came around in front of him, the gun pointed at his chest.

Burke looked past her. “That the way you're going to play this, Willie?”

“Neesa,” Freeman said. “Chill.”

“I don't trust this motherfucker,” she said.

“Let's not make this more complicated than it is,” Burke said. He reached into his right coat pocket, drew out the thick white envelope. “Your money.”

The flashlight beam played across it.

“Bring it here,” Freeman said.

“You want it, come get it.”

Neesa came forward, the gun still on him, took the envelope, and backed away. Freeman came slow up the aisle, his breathing labored.

He wore a green field jacket draped over his shoulders, his right arm in a sling. His forehead glistened with sweat.

“You don't look so good,” Burke said. “You walk out of the hospital like that?”

Freeman took the envelope from Neesa, gave her the flashlight. She shone the light on him while he opened the envelope, looked through the bills. The gun was steady in her other hand.

“You better spend some of that money on a doctor,” Burke said. “You might have an infection there.”

“Shut up,” Neesa said.

“You need to remind your girlfriend that's only half the money,” Burke said. “She shoots me, you don't get the rest.”

“Neesa,” Freeman said. She lowered the gun. Freeman closed the envelope, put it inside his sling.

“The name,” Burke said.

Freeman leaned back against a pew. Burke could see his chest rise and fall.

“That list Marquis give you,” Freeman said. “Boy named Cordell King on it?”

“He's one of them, yeah. Why?”

“Day of that stickup, he booked. No one seen him since.”

“He ran?”

“That's what I said.”

“Doesn't mean anything. He's probably running for the same reason you are.”